


Good Night

by storiesfortravellers



Category: White Collar
Genre: Bad Sex, M/M, Mutually Unrequited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-19
Updated: 2012-08-19
Packaged: 2017-11-12 11:05:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/490187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesfortravellers/pseuds/storiesfortravellers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neal and Peter tell each other how they feel. Which is great. But then, after a long, long, wait, their first night together isn't what they expected.  Because the sex is bad. Very, very bad.  Not noncon.  Not angsty.  Just bad sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Night

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published on lj. Written for the collarkink prompt: P/N, bad sex. Written before the introduction of Sara.

They had waited four years. 

It was a long time to wait.

At the office they had a party to celebrate Neal's freedom. And his new status as a consultant. A real one, with decent pay and privileges, not a "consultant."

When the got back to June's place, Neal and Peter had their own celebration. 

Three months earlier, Neal had said to Peter, "Three months from now you might never see me again."

Peter had narrowed his eyes, had asked, "Are you saying that to see how I'll respond?"

"Yeah," Neal grinned his admission.

Peter failed to stop his mouth from forming a smile. "Reece says you're considering the consultant position."

"Yeah, maybe. I figured you'd have an opinion on that."

Peter shrugged. "It's up to you, Neal."

"Since when do you not have an opinion, Peter?"

"Won't own you in three months," Peter said, looking at his files rather than at Neal.

"Bet you'll hate that. Having to treat me as an equal at work," Neal teased.

"I'll still be your boss, Caffrey," Peter said. But then he looked worried for a moment and said, "And these last three months I'll be on you. I don't want you messing anything up when you're so close."

Neal gave a look of indignation. Peter returned it with his trademark response: the Peter Burke stare of don't act like you have no idea what I'm talking about, we both know you do.

Neal just rolled his eyes and said, "I'm not asking you to test if you're becoming less, you know, stalkery, I just think it's weird that you haven't told me yet if you want me to stay."

"If I had objections you would know about it."

"It's like talking to a brick wall," muttered Neal. 

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Neal hesitated. Then he said, softly, "You know damn well why I'm asking if you want me to stay or not."

Peter knew. Last year, Neal had kissed him. They were locked in a cold soundproof cellar, left to die slowly by some cruel scared people who had gotten tipped off that they were FBI. And when the banter and the fighting and the joking had ceased to be effective distractions, Neal had turned to the very last bastion of the conman: sincerity. He waited until they had been there at least a day and a half with no water or food. They had huddled for warmth, trying to rest, and it wasn't hard for Neal to just reach his neck up and kiss Peter, his tongue a warm burst that made Peter suddenly awake and alert and about a hundred other less appropriate feelings.

Peter had just looked dumbfounded. He said, "Neal, if that was because you think we're not getting out of here-"

"Even if we do, I want you to know. I've wanted to do that for a really long time, Peter. It's fine if you don't... want this. Or even if you don't know if you want this. It's fine. But I'm tired and cold and we might die, and I'm sick of acting like my feelings mean absolutely nothing. I've wanted you forever, and don't even think about pretending that you haven't noticed. If we get out of here, feel free to act like this conversation never happened. But if we don't, well, at least you can't say we died with me lying to you." 

Neal didn't press the issue after he finished saying it, just leaned his head back on Peter's shoulders and gave time for Peter to think about it. After several long minutes, Peter had leaned back down and kissed him back. It really had no business being so good, that kiss, because hunger and thirst weren't good for the breath, and locked cellars weren't good for one's looks or smell or mood, but there was the clash of tongue and teeth, the motion and the heat and the sound of Neal's moan spurring a lower grunt from Peter. When they parted, Neal actually had to catch his breath, and Peter, though equally breathless, had to smirk. 

But then Peter's brain started working again. And he said, "We can't do that again, Neal."

Neal's hopeful eyes blinked, and when they opened, it was like a curtain fell over them,or a pleasant scene painted on a scrim. The conman face, smiling and unperturbed, not a care in the world. Peter sighed but accepted it as the least trouble-causing response. 

After Jones and Cruz had finally found them, using the clues Peter and Neal had left when they were grabbed, Peter and Neal were forced to take a day off. Peter used it to talk things over with Elizabeth.

She told Peter that it's not natural for him to deny himself what he wants when there's no good reason.

But Neal had already kept his promise, acting like the conversation, the kiss, and then the other kiss, had never happened.

So Peter said nothing either. He thought about those kisses, dreamed about them, those searing hot kisses that destroyed the thin layer of delusion that Peter's feelings were platonic. But to Neal, he said nothing.

Until, three months before Peter owns nothing but an empty anklet, Neal needs to know if what happened in the cellar really happened. And Peter doesn't blame him; Neal has to choose a future, and he has a right to know what Peter wants from him. 

So he answered Neal's question. 

"I want you to stay."

"Because I'm good at this," Neal stated.

"Yes."

"At least tell me the team would be lost without me," Neal smirked, hiding his vulnerability well.

Peter sighed. "Just - wait. Give me a second. I-" Peter struggled with his words for a moment, loathing himself for being able to say the right thing in every situation but the most important ones. But the thought of Neal leaving pushed him into blurting out, "I want you Neal. The way you want me. Elizabeth says it's okay. So... stay."

Neal looked astounded. Peter himself hardly believed he had gotten it out. But Neal got over the surprise, practically jumped onto Peter and kissed him long and soft.

"But-" Peter said.

Neal threw his hands up. "What? What is it?!"

Peter was surprised at Neal's inability to hide his annoyance, but continued, "I think we should wait until, you know, you're officially free."

"That's the worst idea I've ever heard." 

"Neal, it feels wrong."

"Good sex is always a little bit wrong, Peter."

"First, um, no. Not true. Second, it's a bad idea. You're in my custody."

"I trust you. If this doesn't work, you'll still be fair. Or are you worried that I'm going to mess up and you'll have to send your boy on the side back to prison?"

Peter narrowed his eyes. "Are you asking me if you'll be the boy on the side? Because I'm not sure what we should call each other but it sure as hell isn't that."

Neal looked relieved but then said, "Then trust me not to use this against you. Like I trust you."

Peter frowned. "If anyone finds out, they'll say that you've been playing me this whole time, and all the other teams' agents you've shown up can accuse you of anything they want. And I'll be considered too biased to provide evidence that clears your name, and you know how that'll go. And even if no one finds out, I'll know. That I slept with someone in my custody."

Neal felt tempted then to call Peter an idiot. And a few synonyms. But Peter hadn't really answered his questions, about whether Peter trusted Neal's motivations. And he thought about the fact that Peter had probably not kissed anyone but Elizabeth in a decade, the fact that Peter continually risked his career and even his life for Neal, and the fact that Peter was truly pathetically bad at expressing his feelings and had done it for Neal anyway. And he realized that if Peter was worried that Neal was less than serious about this, the lest he could do is reassure Peter. 

Neal nodded. "Fine. We wait three months, then we have the most amazing sex in the history of sex. And I've been after you for four years, Peter Burke, so you had better be worth the wait."

Peter smiled, cocky. Neal loved that smile. Peter said, "Don't worry, I am. And I've been chasing you for over a decade, so I have high expectations."

Neal grinned. He really did love a challenge. 

Three months later, the anklet is off. They are tearing their clothes off each other before they even get to Neal's bedroom, and Neal has never been so turned on by the sight of ripped designer clothing. They have been waiting for this moment for so long, and as they climb into Neal's bed, still kissing, grabbing, they wait for the best night of their lives to unfold.

It doesn't exactly happen like that.

~~~oo00oo~~~

The wait had been long, but the actual day was torture for them both. They had had to think of unarousing thoughts all day just to avoid walking around the office with erections. So by the time they plopped onto the bed, they were more than ready. Peter yanked down Neal's pants hard, and the friction as the pants moved past Neal's erect cock caused the kind of noise that made Peter think of anything but restraint. He grabbed Neal's cock and gave it several rough hard strokes, before Neal could protest and tell him that he was sensitive, that he didn't need that much, that he needed to go slow if he was going to last since he had been half hard for hours. 

Neal came quickly, leaving a wad of seed in the hand of a perplexed looking Peter. 

"But how-" Peter asked, like he was shown a magic trick he didn't understand and didn't much like. 

"Ever hear of playing nice, Peter?" Neal snapped.

"I was just warming you up," Peter said, hurt by the accusation, "How can you be so oversensitive?"

"How can you think jacking me that hard is a warmup? If you're that desensitized down there, you must pleasure yourself like ten times a day."

Peter blushed a little and Neal felt a little bad for his sarcasm, recalling that Neal, while searching Peter's home for unrelated reasons, had once found a large and varied collection of pornographic materials.

Neal tried again, "Sorry for snapping, it's just - I think I put too much pressure on myself. But one thing you're really gonna like about me? I'm ready to go again pretty soon after." He grinned, knowing that Peter only pretending to disapprove of bragging.

Peter smiled back. "Good to know," he said as he wiped his hand off on the tiled marble floor. 

Neal looked at him in utter confusion. "Peter, did you just wipe your -- seriously, were you raised by wolves?"

Peter gave an annoyed look and said, "You know what? The Knicks are playing tonight, I'm going to watch the game. Call me when you're ready to go again."

Neal stared at him, wondering if, after everything, Peter was just here to satisfy his curiosity, his lust. He almost said something back when Peter smirked at him.

"Not funny, Peter." 

"You thought I was serious?" Peter gloated.

Neal smiled despite himself. "Of course not. It's just sad that you think you're funny when you're so clearly, clearly not."

Peter reached over and poked the underside of Neal's armpit, the one spot where Neal was ticklish, eliciting a giggle. 

Okay, Neal thought as he smiled, annoyed but satisfied. Peter could be playful.

They started tumbling around, almost wrestling, and they both forgot about the pressure for a moment, just had fun finding excuses to make contact. Neal, thinking Peter was a bit of a jock, showed off by pinning Peter onto the mattress using a wrestling technique he had seen once, but Peter instinctively made a broad countermove. Unfortunately Neal's bed was actually not as big as a gymnasium floor, and as they slid off, they both hit the hard floor. 

"You okay?" Peter asked.

"Yeah, you?" Neal said, rubbing his elbow, knowing there'd be a bruise later. 

"Yeah. Thanks for landing on top of me."

"Any time, partner," Neal muttered as Peter helped them sit up. They sat there for a second before Peter reached over and cradled Neal's jaw, leaning in for another kiss as they sat on the hard floor.

This time they went slower, and Peter's mouth moved down to Neal's neck and started nibbling. Neal tried to concentrate on the sensation as Peter moved down to his chest. It was actually pretty nice, and Neal was once again reminded of the Peter Burke who was good at almost everything.

"Back on the bed," Neal managed to get out, and Peter stood and practically yanked Neal up and threw him on the bed. A little rougher, clumsier than Neal liked, but still, he could work with it.

Peter lay on his side next to Neal and kissed him again, Peter's mouth on his, hot and urgent and skilled, and for a minute everything was right again.

"Your mouth is so fucking good," Neal gasped. 

Neal can feel the victory smile that curls Peter's lips even as they keep working. Peter takes a moment to boast, "I know, Elizabeth goes crazy when I - what?"

"Don't mention, I mean are you thinking about-"

"No, of course not. I mean, does it bother you that I-"

"No, I mean yeah, I don't want to think about El while we-"

"But you like El-"

"I love El, she's great, Peter. But I don't like her that way, I can't think about her while we-"

"Does it bother - I mean, she said it's fine, we're not hurting her -"

"I know, I just don't want the image of your wife in my head while your dick is pressing against my thigh, is that so hard to understand?"

They were both silent then for a moment then, realizing how much they hadn't covered yet, how far they were from figuring out what questions they wanted to ask, much less building answers. 

But the now-infamous team of Burke and Caffrey were known for their dogged persistence, and they pushed the conversation aside as Peter muttered, "Sorry, won't happen again," and went back to licking and sucking on Neal's chest, taking time to run his tongue forcefully in circles on his left nipple. 

Neal moaned as Peter worked his way downward, down his abdomen, using his teeth just to give the lightest of scrapes along the trail of hair from his navel to his groin. Peter hesitated before taking the head of Neal's dick in his mouth, and his mouth was kind of clumsy and loose, nothing like the firm confidence of Peter's kiss, but it was Peter's mouth on Neal and it brought Neal back up soon enough. Neal started saying Peter's name, again and again, not so much because Peter was affecting him but to remind himself that finally, finally, he was with Peter. Eventually, the pressure built, and Neal said, "Fuck me, that's enough Peter, I need you to fuck me."

Peter parted from Neal and gave him a grin, like he had been waiting half his life to hear that. He said, "Do you have-"

"Top drawer," Neal answered.

Peter hurried to the bedtable and pulled open the drawer and immediately found a tube of lube. His eye was caught, however, by some of the more exotic objects in the drawer and he raised an eyebrow at Neal and said, "What exactly did you think we would be doing with those?"

Neal had actually made a few purchases. Before this neared being a reality, Neal had two fantasies about Peter that he liked best - the never-been-with-a-man fantasy where Neal has to coax and seduce virginal Peter every step of the way - and the clever, sneaky Peter fantasy, where everyone assumes he's vanilla but really he's as smart and devious and worldly and challenge-loving in bed as he is at work. Since Neal had previously found the courage to ask Peter if he had been with a man (he had - several, but all before Elizabeth), Neal had started thinking about his other fantasy and bought a few things so that Peter would be impressed by how risque he could be. He really wanted to impress Peter. Now, though, Neal had observed enough to conclude that toys didn't seem to be Peter's kink, and especially not the bizarre novelty ones.

Peter continued in the face of Neal's silence, "I mean, do you need this kind of thing?" 

No, was the answer. But Peter's question was rather judgmental, so Neal shrugged and answered, "Just some things I picked up with my ex. We probably shouldn't use them since technically they're his."

Neal could see Peter's mind spin as he narrowed his eyes; "How many people have you slept with in the last few years?"

"A few," Neal lied. _None. Because I've been in love with you, which for most of our time together was the same as being alone. And I've been jacking off to thoughts of you for the past four years, and crying whenever I thought I might never get to have you, but I'd rather you think I've been having blazing hot sex without you._ Neal contintued, aloud, "Okay, fine, I've been with quite a few. Can't blame a guy for being universally loved, you know?"

Peter looked skeptical. "I would have known. I keep a close eye, Neal."

"And I always know where that eye is, Peter. Besides, jealousy doesn't become you. I'm disease free, you know that from my file, and beyond that it's none of your business."

Peter sighed, looking angry. Neal loved it when he looked jealous, even if part of him knew that he might well be figured out within minutes.

But Peter just muttered "fine" and spread a big glop of lube on his fingers.

Neal was hoping Peter planned face-to-face, so he was easily guided to put his left ankle over Peter's shoulder as Peter ran his finger between his cheeks and pressed at his hole. When Peter's finger pushed in, it was slow and difficult, and Neal could even feel a little scrape of fingernail. Uncharitably, Neal thought of Peter's not-always-clean-under-the-nails hands, but then told himself to focus. It had been a long time, and Neal wasn't intending to perform less than tremendously well.

It was a while of Peter's single finger, in and out, not really doing much for Neal. Peter seemed to be concentrating very hard, and Neal wondered if he was always like that during sex, looking as if he we doing an exceptionally difficult sudoku. When Peter finally added a second finger, it was a relief to Neal's patience even as the enhanced pressure made Neal tense up.

Shortly after, though, Peter pulled his fingers out, tugging unpleasantly as the sphincter tightened on them on the way out.

Neal wondered if Peter was done, if he should remind him that he had seen Peter naked and he knew for a fact that wouldn't be nearly enough preparation. Unless Peter wanted to make it hurt, Neal wondered.

But Peter had put Neal's foot down on the bed and then moved to lay next to him again. He hesitated for some reason before running his other hand gently around Neal's chest. "What's wrong?" Peter said.

"Nothing's wrong."

"Obviously, something's wrong. Your whole body is rigid, it's like you're just enduring this, like you're at the dentist's," Peter observed. Peter's tone showed concern, not blame, but Neal balked nonetheless.

"Well, it's not like you're really hitting anything that would make me react."

Peter took it as a comment rather than an insult. "I wanted you to relax, loosen up first. You're not exactly letting me in there."

Neal gave a sulk like he had just been accused of something.

Peter just leaned over to kiss Neal's jaw. "If this is not working for you, I'll try something else. What usually works for you? What helps you to relax?"

Neal tried not to look like he was having a hard time remembering. It had been years since anyone had been inside of him. Except of course for imaginary-Peter.

"Just keep doing what you're doing," Neal said, "It just takes awhile."

Peter didn't look like he believed Neal. He kissed him on the mouth, this time soft and almost chaste. He asked again, "Tell me what you like. Please, hon, I need you to help me out with this one. Talk to me." Peter's face was kind then, patient, and Neal remembered the many times Peter had made him feel protected and respected and cherished when everyone else saw criminal scum. Neal tried to think of what would help, tried to think of what would make himself get inspired by his fantasies rather than outsmarted by them. Because truthfully, Neal knew that he had been lying there like a cold fish, and that's not at all how he usually was. Quite the opposite. 

Neal pulled one of his favorite gems out then. "Talk to me Peter," he said, "Talk dirty to me. Whisper in my ear and make it good."

Neal smiled, look of lust in his eyes, and Peter matched the grin.

Neal knew that Peter would be good at dirty talk. Really, Peter was good at almost everything. And there were times when Peter's toppy aggressiveness would just verbalize at surprising moments, sending Neal's libido into a frenzy. Hell, even when Peter joked that he owned Neal, kept him on a tight leash, it went right to Neal's dick.

Peter maneuvered himself above Neal, and it was a bit awkward, Peter's large body trying to not disturb Neal too much even though it was practically on top of him. But he managed to move his mouth to Neal's ear and give a torturously good little bite to the earlobe before starting.

"Oh yeah, Neal, you're gonna take it, aren't you boy? You like taking it don't you Neal?" Peter whispered in a very false-sounding too-low growl.

Neal didn't laugh. It would have been very, very, very rude to laugh.

Peter continued, "I'm gonna make you come until you can't see straight, and then I'm gonna make you lick it up."

At seeing the decidedly non-aroused face Neal made, Peter amended, "Well, maybe not lick it up, but only because you won't be able to walk straight by the time I'm through with you."

Marginally better, Neal told himself. He forced himself to sound turned on and to say, "Yeah, Peter, tell me."

"I'm going to spin you around until you I've had you in every direction, and you're going to love it, you want it so bad don't you?" 

"Yeah, Peter I want it bad."

Peter stopped and pushed back so he could look Neal in the face. He said, in his normal voice, annoyed and a bit defensive, "Did you just use your con voice?"

Neal bristled in outrage. "I do NOT have a con voice," he objected, more incensed by the insult to his professionalism/con skills than the accusation of falseness.

"Yeah, you do. El, Jones, and I are the only ones who can tell, but you have one."

"That is ridiculous, I do NOT HAVE A-"

"Why are you not telling me what's working for you?" Peter demanded.

Neal looked away. This whole evening was... a problem.

Peter's hand gentle in Neal's hair then, carding through it. Peter's voice, not angry, but firm, low, brooking no argument: "Talk to me. Whatever it is."

Neal responded after a hard minute. "I wanted tonight to be perfect."

Peter nodded and sighed. Neal cringed as he waited for Peter to confess that he was disappointed too.

He didn't. 

Instead Peter said, "I'd rather have real than perfect."

"And that is a fundamental difference in philosophy, Peter," Neal replied, wondering if he believed it or if it was just instinct now to question, to contradict.

Peter grimaced then but repeated, "Tell me what I can do better. I won't be upset. I like clear direction."

Neal hesitated but Peter's gaze didn't leave his face and eventually Neal couldn't help but look Peter in the eye, and then it was over. Sometimes he thought Peter's earnestness should be classified as a weapon.

"It's been a while," Neal admitted. "I think you just need to go a little slower. And I'm nervous, I guess. But then... you are too."

Peter nodded right away, not embarrassed. He grinned, "I've been worried about it for three months."

Neal smiled wide, feeling a little lighter. He repeated, "Just go slower. I might take a while to get more responsive."

Peter smiled, sly this time. "I like that idea. Getting to know every inch of you. Nice and slow."

Neal nodded his assent and they went back to a previous position, Peter taking more lube and trying again to work the ring of muscle into a looser entry, this time not staring so intently at his work and instead scattering light kisses on Neal's shoulder. It was nice enough.

When Peter was ready to enter Neal, he asked Neal if he was all right three times before lining himself up against Neal's ass. Neal got bored and rolled his eyes the third time, so Peter didn't ask again.

Neal whimpered a little as it happened, but regained composure as he felt Peter come to a stop and waited for Neal's body to adjust. Then Peter started moving back and forth in earnest. The angle wasn't quite right and somehow Neal's prostate wasn't getting much of the action. It was mostly friction, in and out, in and out, and it was surprisingly hard to leverage into a different angle. Plus, Neal was wondering if it was possible to get seasick from the motion of a body on a bed. 

As the pace quickened, Peter roughly pumped Neal's again-erect penis until it came again, this time on Neal's own stomach. Soon after, Peter himself let out an undignified groan as he came inside of Neal.

When it was done, both men seemed relieved. Peter held Neal then, very tightly, and only after a minute did Peter ask, "You okay?"

"Yeah," he said softly, "You?"

"I'm good," Peter said, and it was indecipherable. 

"Go ahead and take the first shower," Neal said, imagining that it might be nice to have his bed back and room to breathe and think, even just for a moment. Peter grunted his thanks and got up to head toward the bathroom when his body crashed to the ground with a large noise. 

Neal was scared for a moment but saw that Peter looked all right. He also saw that Peter had managed to forget about - and slip on - the come he had wiped on the floor so rudely earlier that night.

"Are you okay?" Neal laughed.

"Great," Peter muttered, and then interrupted his grumpiness to look back at Neal with an encouraging look. "Neal. We took a long time to get here. Things that are good take a while. You know?"

Neal said, "I know." He didn't know that actually. He wasn't sure of it anyway. But if Peter could trust time to bring them what they would need and want, then Neal could too. 

"Wait," Neal said as Peter tried again to head toward a shower. "Kiss me before you leave."

Peter smiled and then kissed him. Their mouths lingered, and for the first time that day, it felt even better than it did in that cellar.


End file.
